Saturday, August 23, 2014
But I Did
I met a homeless woman who had not a dime to her name.
She had two baskets, a bag of medicine, a sack of snack foods, a backpack,
And a dog.
She needed to get to Texarkana, on the Arkansas side, to where her son lives, with his girlfriend.
He had not a dime to his name for gasoline to come pick her up, and
He had no permission from his girlfriend to use her car to pick her up.
I gave her a ride to Texarkana, on the Arkansas side, to where her son lives,
And her dog.
I didn't think I could drive it. But I did.
And God smiled.
On the way, I saw small country towns, and I saw bigger towns,
Such as Greenville, and Mt. Pleasant, my Dad's hometown.
I saw green fields of summer grass with scores of fat cows grazing to their hearts' content.
I saw sixty foot trees towering up both shoulders of the highway so dense you
could not distinguish one tree trunk from the next.
I saw mansion-like ranch houses sprawled on hilltops surrounded by boundaries
of white cross-plank fences.
I saw countless ponds, lakes, and the Red River.
I crossed the Red River, over to the Arkansas side where the son lives with his girlfriend.
Then I turned around, and crossed over the Red River again.
I didn't think I could drive it. But I did.
And I smiled.
When men do anything without God, it's ugly; it corrupts.
When God does anything, it's lovely; it edifies.
When Patches, the dog, sleeps tonight on a rug on the floor,
With fresh water, and stomach full of the Iams Lamb and Rice I happened
to be carrying in the car when I found them,
She is going to be sleeping well.
Goodnight Patches, Sleep tight;
Don't let any bugs bite.
I didn't think I could drive it. But I did.
And Patches is smiling.
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